


The Long Dark

by Writingfish (idraax)



Category: Castlevania: Lords of Shadow, 悪魔城ドラキュラ | Castlevania Series
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-18
Updated: 2017-11-18
Packaged: 2019-02-03 19:40:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12754872
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/idraax/pseuds/Writingfish
Summary: For 500 years Alucard walked the earth, collecting trauma along the way. Gabriel finds out.





	The Long Dark

**Author's Note:**

> A fill for the kinkmeme

Five hundred years was a long time. Plenty could happen in those years and as Gabriel stared down at his son's wolf form curled up at his feet, he wondered what had been so terrible. It had been weeks since Alucard took his human form. The last time that Gabriel had seen it was when he had fed his son his blood to help him recover from Satan’s possession.

The wolf at his feet raised his head, looking inquiringly at him. He shrugged and went back to stroking him, scratching lightly behind his ears with his claws.

"Just memories," he said.

The wolf huffed, moving out from underneath his hand and hopping up onto his lap. It was amazing how Alucard could be so expressive in his wolf form. Gabriel didn't think that he had ever seen his son's human form show any expression other than stoicism.

"I will be  _fine_ ," he said and the disbelieving expression on the wolf's face made something inside of him ache.

Outside, the sun finally sank beneath the streets of the city. The wolf flicked its ears at him and then hopped off his lap. He loped towards the door and something soft within him made him call out.

"Be safe, son," he said and the wolf stopped, flicked an ear in acknowledgement and disappeared out of the room. Gabriel sat back in his throne, hand on his chin. Why had he said that?

That soft thing within, so small and fragile, hurt. He sank back on the throne, closed his eyes and wondered what Marie would have done.

* * *

 

The dead whispered in his ears. He saw their ghosts in the corners of his eyes. They glared at him, accusingly.

The city around him was a tapestry of smell, adding layers to what he could already sense. His sense of smell in this form was better than that of his vampire form, though he couldn't really remember.

Being a vampire was something that he didn't want to get used to. The thirst was a constant companion, burning inside of him.

He had nearly lost it once, had attacked a village and was stopped by the Brotherhood. He cut the thought off, didn't want to think about what had happened next. Though his vampire form still had the scars.

He shook his head, ears thumping back against his skull. His rounds in the night would hold the memories at bay. The day was when he had to worry.

* * *

 

It was dawn by the time Alucard returned. Gabriel's eyes snapped open. He smelled blood. Thankfully, not his son's. He'd never forget the smell of his son's blood. He could still smell it some nights, thick and cloying in his nostrils.

His son walked in. His white fur was streaked with blood and Gabriel rose, vanishing into dark mist. He coalesced next to him, looking him over.

"Are you hurt?"

The wolf shook his head and nosed underneath his hand, careful of the claws. He rubbed its head, flicking out bits of dried blood.

"You need a bath."

Abruptly, the wolf moved. Loping away to curl up on the far side of the room. Gabriel blinked. What had set his son off? He was defensive now, ears laid flat and tail tucked in. Abrupt rage rose up in him. Who had hurt his son so?

He slowly walked towards him, keeping his arms at his sides. His son eyed him as he got closer, wariness engraved into every line of his body.

Gabriel sighed, quietly. He knelt before the wolf and kept his body language open.

"I wish you would talk to me," he said. "I want to help."

No answer.

He sighed again, lingering next to the wolf for a few moments longer. Then, he rose and turned away.

"I will be in the library, if you need me."

He hesitated at the door, a minute pause. Marie would have known what to do if she were here. He shut his eyes, breathed out and left.

* * *

 

The castle was never quiet and as he woke, he could hear the muffled sounds of the city outside. The perpetual darkness was deeper now, true night draping itself over the castle at last.

He uncurled from his corner, brushing his hair out of his face with a clawed hand. Wait. He was supposed to have paws. He was supposed to have paws and fur and a  _tail_. He wasn't supposed to be in the form!

He tried to shift, grabbed for the feeling of the wolf-shape, the instincts that came with it. Nothing. He'd run out of energy. He needed blood, but the very thought of it made him nauseous.

He leaned against the wall, working all of the cricks out of this body. It felt too big, too weak and he missed the strength of his wolf shape.

Eventually, he pushed himself off the wall and wandered down the hallway. There were only three places he could find his father: the throne room, at the battlements or very rarely, the library.

He found his father in the second place, staring out into the dark. He was still, a statue overlooking his domain. He turned when he got closer, pleased shock on his face. It made being in this form easier, though discomfort still rippled under his skin.

"Alucard!"

There was pleasure in the tone. Had his father actually missed his vampire form? He thought he would have liked him better as a wolf, not being able to speak. They hadn't wanted him to speak when they strung him up on the cross, Gresit's bloody shadow looming over them all.

"Father," he acknowledged, words sticking to the insides of his throat.

The violent, suppressed twitch in his father's hands would have been visible even to dull human senses. It was almost as if he wanted to reach out, but was holding himself back. He remembered the last time they had properly touched, a simple forearm clasp and the yearning that came with it.

That same yearning rose within him again. His mind flinched from it. The last time he had been touched pleasantly had not ended well.

His father studied him with pale blue eyes and the hidden scars that littered this body ached from the gaze. He relaxed some. His father's rage was banked for now.

Still, unease skittered down his spine. This side of his father was new, unpredictable. Could he handle it?

He stayed where he was, though the urge to run made his limbs tingle. His father walked forwards, steps slow and careful. The sadness in his eyes was not a new emotion, but it had never been directed at him as intensely.

"It is good to see you in this form," his father said. His words were calm, but they had a note of something. Longing? Desperation?

The urge got stronger, but he held it back. This was a rare moment, not something he wanted to break. His father reached out and he tried to suppress the flinch as he laid a careful hand on his cheek.

_"You're quite pretty for a vampire," the knight said, leering as he tied him to the cross. "Some of us wanted to stake you, you know? But, this is better."_

_He leaned in to sniff at him and the smell of ale on his breath was thick and bitter._

_"Oh, the fun we'll have with you," he said, stepping away and drawing his sword._

_It gleamed in the torchlight. He could feel the holy power radiating off of it, could feel his skin start to burn._

_"We will show him what we do to your kind," the knight said as he pressed the blade into his flesh. His skin sizzled, wisps of smoke rising upwards._

_He laughed, golden eyes dulled from thirst._

_"It won't matter to him," he said. "It won't stop him."_

* * *

 

It was on nights like this, quiet and calm, that Gabriel really missed Marie. Now, holding his son as he shook, he missed her more. What would she have done if she were here?

"Alucard"

He called his son's name again, had lost track of how many times he had said his name.

This close to him, he could see faint, white scars scattered across his chest. As always, his eyes were drawn to the dark grey scar above his heart. The dull grief stabbed at him again. He had made that scar, had staked his own son through the heart. But the other scars, he hadn't made those.

Rage roared through him and he clutched his son tighter, claws tearing at the fabric of his coat. He'd find whomever hurt his son, find them and rip them apart piece by piece. Then, he would feed on their blood and turn them into husks.

His son made a sound and his rage snuffed out, not dead, never dead, but gone for now.

"Alucard? Son?"

His son blinked at him, eyes slightly unfocused. His shaking was lessening, a good sign. He opened his mouth and croaked, trying to find words.

He shifted his grip, helped his son sit up. It was still night, but he led the both inside. His son leaned into him, chin resting on top of his head. He tried to speak again, but Gabriel hushed him.

"It can wait. You need to eat."

He may not know his son as well as he liked, but he knew about his distaste for drinking blood. His son spoke again. He couldn't make it out, as it was said against his head and muffled, but he assumed it was a no.

He sighed, gesturing to one of the creatures in the shadows and imposed his will. It nodded and bowed back, vanishing to gather the goblets of blood he had requested.

His son made another sound, another protest. That stubbornness, that fire, he really was like Marie. Grief rose in him again, tinged with awe. Marie did not hate him, not even after what he had done to her, to their  _son_. She would have been able to handle this, would have been able to help. He wished she were here.

* * *

 

He sipped at the blood with shaky hands. He'd have preferred not to drink it at all, but his father had glared at him until he had given in. It slid down his throat and he could taste the holy water that they had poured over his head on his tongue. His strength was returning; he'd be able to return to his wolf form now.

The castle had always been dark, drafty and cold, but it seemed even darker now. He shivered a little and his father looked at him, alarmed.

"Are you ill?"

He shook his head, forced himself to sip more of the blood. The scars on his back burned. Even now, he could still feel the consecrated whips they had used on his skin. Quickly, he drained the goblet not wanting to deal with anymore memories. It tasted like ashes.

His father's gaze was still on him, the worry palpable.

He set the goblet down. Nausea curled in his stomach and he closed his eyes, slumping forward on the table. The dining room had always been large with high ceilings. He felt far to exposed within it. He wanted to go back to being a wolf, wanted the safety of that form. But his father had sounded so  _pleased_  when he had appeared in this form as if he'd missed talking to him. He'd stay in it a little longer.

His father leaned forward, clothing rustling as he placed his elbows on the table. His claws brushed his gauntlets and he felt a strange urge to take them off and clutch at his father's hands like a child.

"Talk to me," his father said, and was that pleading in his tone? " _Please_ "

The yearning rose again, hollow and sharp. He found he  _wanted_  to talk, to let the pain spill out. Yet, he found his throat locked and mouth dry. He'd only hurt his father further if he told him everything that had went on in those years, everything the Brotherhood had done. His father was hurt enough already.

He stayed silent, watching his father'e expression change. There was that sorrow again, shaded with an emotion he couldn't determine. His father looked away after a long moment, withdrawing his hands.

"I wish your mother were here," he said, to himself, though Alucard's ears picked it up as clear as a moonlit night.

There was that yearning again, that pain and he could finally identify that shade of emotion he had seen in his father's eyes, longing. He was  _hurting_  his father by not telling him. Which was better?

The memory of the last time he had kept something from his father blossomed in his mind. The scar on his chest ached, almost as if his heart was being stabbed again. He could still feel the tears dripping onto his face, his father's. This wasn't a choice at all was it?

He took a breath and removed his gauntlets, baring his pale, scarred hands to the air. He looked at them for a moment before leaning forward and reaching for his father's hands. He took them in his own and laced their fingers together, mindful of the claws.

His father let him, didn't speak, barely moved except to tighten his grip.

"You were asleep for five hundred years," he began. "As much as I wanted to stay by your side, there were plans to enact, pieces to move. I wandered the earth, returning occasionally to make sure you were safe."

* * *

 

He stepped away from the coffin and sighed. The Crissaegrim protruded out of his father's chest, a splatter of blood on its hilt. In sleep, his father looked less angry. The constant tiredness came out more, but the lines of pain in his face had eased. He looked years younger.

"Enjoy your sleep father," he whispered. Then, he turned away and walked out of the room. The door shut behind him with a quiet thud.

Yearning rose again, sharp and hot. He wanted to stay, wanted to stop and contemplate the years. The wound of his death still throbbed and Trevor's thoughts were at the surface now, more than they had ever been since Simon.

He couldn't. He needed to spread the word of his father's death. It had to reach the acolytes. Only then would they begin to move.

Rumors of his father's supposed death were spreading slowly. He knew word of the explosion had spread and the people's fear of his father was strong enough to make them doubt his death. He sat in taverns, listening to them talk and planned his next moves.

It was on a night like that when he was caught by the Brotherhood for the first time.

Gresit was a fairly large town. Its buildings had small spaces between them, enough room for an alley. It smelled a little better than the other towns he encountered. The river being nearby helped.

He had slipped into one of its taverns at dusk, lurking in the shadows and listening to the conversations. There had been no word of Satan's acolytes. Perhaps, they didn't believe the rumors either.

He lingered there, as the tavern began to empty. A mistake, in hindsight.

A hand fell on his shoulder, heavy and cold. The scent of ale washed over him, pungent and bitter. Someone pressed up against him and he could feel the cross on their hip burn.

"You're coming with us, vampire," the man whispered in his ear. " _Quietly_ , now. Don't want to cause any trouble do we?"

He glanced around, but everyone was carefully not looking in their direction. He'd go along with the man for now. Once, they were outside, he could free himself and leave town.

Slowly, he nodded.

"Good," the man whispered, grinning against his ear. His breath tickled and he suppressed the shudder that rose in him.

Then, his hands were yanked backwards and bound with rope that caused his wrists to burn.

"I'm going to  _enjoy_  this."

They had bound him with blessed rope. It would be difficult to get out of, but not impossible.

The man led him outside and there, in front of them, stood a large wooden cross. It was only, upon seeing the torches, that he began to worry.

They strapped him to it, lewdly commenting all the while. The square was empty, the air cold and he tried to focus on that instead of the burning of his skin.

They cut into him with holy blades. His thirst grew stronger, the need to heal overriding everything. He strained against the ropes. Blood trickled down, hissing as it touched the rope. The knights were laughing, their touches burning.

He laughed, throat raw. He wouldn't give them the satisfaction of hearing him scream. They wanted to hurt his father by hurting him. His father was asleep, safe. He would never know. He could  _never_  know.

Eventually, they stopped. Perhaps they grew bored or more likely, they wanted him to go crawling back to his father and show him their power. They cut him free, letting him drop. He hit the ground with a thud and something squelched.

One of them grabbed his hair, yanked his head back.

"Show your face around here again and you know what we'll do."

They left.

He took a breath through shattered lungs. The sky was lightening; he needed to move. Slowly, he dragged himself upright and put one aching foot in front of the other until he reached the shadows.

His teeth throbbed, fangs lengthening. The hunger gaped inside of him and everything smelled sharper. He moved with the sun, stumbling from shadow to shadow, keeping away from it's light. 

* * *

 

"After that, I found the village," his son said. There was no emotion in his voice. It had gone flat by the time he had described the cross.

Familiar rage rose within him and Gabriel pushed it back with great effort. There is a time for anger, Marie had said. It was not now, not with his son looking so empty as he described all that had been done to him.

"I was so  _hungry_ "

His son's voice broke and he bent over until his forehead touched their joined hands, tightening his grip.

"I nearly killed all of them," he whispered in a voice so low that it was just on the edge of his vampiric hearing. He knew how that ended, with a village full of corpses and the Brotherhood's knights after him.

"The Brotherhood found me," his son continued. "They found me and stopped me, but I can still feel  _their blood_  on me."

He wanted to speak, the long-buried part of his heart rising to the surface. He felt rooted to the chair, locked in the moment. His son's voice had gone flat again.

"They came for me," he said, "tied me up again and poured holy water over my head."

Enough was enough. His heart, already shattered would break further if he listened. Already, his son was breaking in front of his eyes.

He rose, keeping his hands were they were and carefully moved around the table. His son looked up, golden eyes empty. A chill ran through him, colder than death and he knelt, carefully, by his son's side.

"Not everything has to be told tonight, son," he said in the gentlest tone he could manage.

He knew there was more, so much more that had happened. Five hundred years was a long time. He wasn't sure if he could truly help his son yet, but they had an eternity. They would manage somehow.

The rage still roared behind the wall he had put up and he grit his teeth, fangs slicing into the inside of his bottom lip. His son opened his mouth and he shook his head, gently separating their hands. He brought one up to stroke at his hair, carefully running his claws through the strands

He knew his son now, well enough to see all of the parts he tried to hide. The rage turned inwards again and coldly cut into him. He had caused his son to hide the fragile parts of himself, had turned him into a symbol of everything he had stood against. This was his fault.

Yet, his son leaned into him, body nearly falling off the chair and pressed his head to his shoulder and breathed shakily.

"I love you," he murmured into his hair. He didn't think he'd ever said it before to anyone aside from Marie. The words tasted new on his tongue and he found he liked the shape of them, liked saying them to his son.

"I love you," he said again, because he could and as he ran his claws through his son’s hair, he whispered the name that both of them would deny was at the very center of Alucard’s being.

“Trevor”

Somewhere, up in Heaven, Marie would be proud.


End file.
